


Masks of Death

by Ramzes



Series: Dragon Kings Without Beasts [12]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:37:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3872326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Red Keep is preparing to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the ascension of King Aerys, the First of His Name. Little do people know that it's only the beginning of a new bloodshed. And it'll all start with a ball attended by royalty, lords and ladies... and three men known as the Rat, the Hawk and the Pig.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mournful Celebrations

Each moon of this year was celebrated by a new tourney, the foundation of a new charity, a generous display of mummer shows in all major castles and cities of the realm. How the lords truly felt about it remained unknown but they did what they were supposed to, like loyal subjects. The tenth anniversary of Aerys' coronation had to be celebrated properly.

Of course, nowhere else were the festivities as grand as King's Landing. This turn of the moon marked the exact date of the ascension and there were no money spared for wrestlers, knife-throwers, monkeys riding horses, dogs walking on their hind legs, singers, and sword dancers. Seamstresses were having their time of the year with all the ladies coming from all over the realm to partake in the royal celebrations, or at least see them from afar. Food items sold thrice their regular price.

In the Red Keep, those who were supposed to preside over the celebrations were far from any celebratory feelings. King Aerys had found a new book, or the new meaning of an old book, no one could be sure, and wouldn't leave his chambers. Queen Aelinor looked paler and gaunter than usual. The King's Hand was so morose that even Lady Shiera could not cheer him up and people speculated in low scared voices what news could have made him so visibly distraught. Prince Maekar was more short-tempered than ever. Prince Aegon had been expected to arrive a fortnight ago and hadn't, and no one knew whether he'd make it, or had ended up one of the many victims on the roads – dead with his entire escort, faceless and unrecognized…

"I have to admit that you've always had the most exquisite taste about the colours of your gowns."

Daella Dondarrion's voice was intentionally cheerful. While in the last few months Aelora had gotten somewhat better, the celebrations could be nothing but reminder of all that she had lost. Daella shuddered. She had grieved her late husband, she still loved and missed him but she could not imagine how it would have felt like if he had been her other half from the day of her birth. Unlike some others, she did not think that Aelora's new peculiarities had anything to do with her father's legacy. She was not mad. Just mad with grief. And she _had_ started getting better. Perhaps she could get better once again when they left those celebrations behind.

The gown was indeed lovely, its pale creamy colour enhancing both Aelora's purple eyes and the golden glints in her auburn hair. Daella suspected that it would also enhance her cousin's profoundly frail figure but there was no way around that.

"You'll see it'll be lovely," she said, very bravely.

Aelora gave her a doubtful look. "You don't believe it. You want it no more than I do."

Daella sighed. "Am I this obvious?"

"To a fellow soul, yes, you are," Aelora replied honestly.

Daella rose and went to the window, staring blindly at the preparations beneath. Tonight, the great ball would take place and she didn't feel like going at all. Her relationship with her husband was at its lowest point; the Small Council had started looking at her askance because the man was channeling their personal fights into House Dondarrion's politics; the Blackfyres were stirring yet another trouble in Essos which, in turn, made everyone in the Red Keep uncomfortable and brooding… The last thing she needed was a celebration of any kind. Especially when knowing that her husband was sure to attend.

Under her window, a group of young noble maidens had crowded around an old, wizened fortune-teller. Five years ago, Daella had been one of them, eager to know what life and impeding marriage would bring her; now, she only shook her head and turned her back to the window.

Suddenly, the door opened and Daella gasped at the sight of her father or rather, the small boy wriggling to get free of his iron grasp.

"What?" Aelora exclaimed. "He was here only a moment ago, I swear!"

"Someone must have opened the door," Maekar said, "because when I came in, he was busy crossing the lilac chamber in pursuit of freedom."

Daella impatiently reached for her son. "Trying to run away from me, eh?" she scolded and he glared at her, wiggling still. She placed him on the green carpet. "Don't do it again!"

"Don't place your hopes too high," Maekar murmured. "He'll do it again. That's what they do. The fact that we generally manage to keep them alive until they learn to take care of themselves a bit is a miracle in itself…"

He gave his daughter and niece a stern look. "I came to make sure that you haven't forgotten about the ball tonight. People will expect both of you to attend."

Daella and Aelora shared a look of utter despair. That would be a night of torture, behaving themselves and pretending to be merry while inside, they wanted to scream. Would they forever be bargaining chips in that game of thrones that no one was able to stop playing?

Surprisingly, but this time it was Aelora who generally avoided any confrontations when possible who took the initiative.

"Daella does not desire to attend, Uncle," she said, lifting her chin. "And neither do I," she added defiantly. She was quite certain that while Daella's presence was required to stop any rumours that there was a rift with the Marcher lords, she was to be dangled like an especially delicious sweetmeat in front of the realm – the first step in their quest to find her a second match. The very idea of one made her gag.

Maekar raised an eyebrow. "Finally stopped fearing me, eh?"

Aelora blushed and almost looked down. It was true that in her grief, she had developed a strong fear of forceful personalities and in this, her uncle excelled.

"I don't feel like celebrating," she said and admitted, "Besides, everyone will be staring at me and they will whisper about…"

"It's inevitable," Maekar said. "But it was an accident. Take heart from this."

Aelora thought about this. She could find solace in almost nothing and courage, in even less. "How could you stand it?" she wondered, looking at Maekar.

His face softened. "By sheer will," he said. "There might be another way but if so, I don't know it. You just have to keep going. Remember, he knew that you didn't want it. It was just an accident." He paused. "You cannot avoid the world forever, as tempting as it might be. Sooner or later, you'll have to face court… and that's true for you as well," he added, looking at his daughter. If Daella acquiesced, that would be her first appearance to a courtly function since the day she had arrived at King's Landing without warning, two weeks ago. The rumours had abounded but the only things that were known for sure were that she had sent for her son by her first husband to be brought from Driftmark immediately and that she had not responded to her husband's letter.

Daella held the child more tightly. "I know," she sighed. "I will come. And I think you should as well, Aelora."

Aelora nodded curtly. Still ravaged by grief and guilt, she wanted to live nonetheless. And if it was a ball that she had to attend, then a ball it would be. Who knew, it might even turn out to be a new beginning. She did not believe that but it would be nice if it was.

 


	2. Masks and Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented!

"Open the gates."

The men guarding the gates to the more inner part of the Red Keep just laughed, amused at the newcomer's audacity. He was dressed in rags that the lowliest spitting boy would rather die than be seen in, from his thorn shoe, a toe stuck out and the stench wafting from him would make a bootblack recoil. He looked quite toylike next to the bear of man who had fallen a step behind him. An intentionally sough contrast, indeed?

"The Red Keep has already hired the mummer shows for the celebration," the guard said dismissively.

To his surprise, the annoying lad did not retreat with his tail between his legs. Indeed, he looked angered. "You think us _mummers_?" he asked, made a threatening step forward, and entered the circle of torchlight which made the other guard gasp.

"Welcome, Your Grace," he said and poked his comrade in the ribs when he started protesting.

Once inside, Aegon Targaryen gave his companion and himself a doubtful look. "I have to say they were right," he acknowledged. "If I appear at the ball in such a state, my father will certainly disinherit me. Come on, let's bathe and change of clothes before we appear."

"We? _We_ aren't appearing anywhere," Ser Duncan replied. "I only came this far because I had to deliver you to your father safely. But I am not staying a moment longer around them lords and ladies. You can look for me in the Fleabottom if you so wish."

"What about that bath?" Aegon called behind him and grinned when he saw the hesitation in Ser Duncan's step. He could practically read his mind: Dunk had no idea when he'd next have the chance to bathe properly so the idea was not to be ignored…

Together, they headed for the living quarters, hearing from a distance the music and sounds of a great ball. Aegon was surprised at how easily he still found his way around here. As if he had never left.

"Now, we go through this garden," he said. "And then, the yard. We'll save lots of time this way."

"Unless they, too, think we're mummers," Dunk muttered but Aegon waved his apprehensions away.

"No one ever comes here when there's a courtly function," he said. "They're all in the great hall trying to attract the King's notice."

"Not those two," Dunk pointed out and at seeing the men his friend was referring to, Aegon, too, decided that it would be better if they avoided being seen.

They were just passing through the shadow of a tree with low-hanging branches when the words came to them. "That was very brazen of her, to show dressed up like Valaena Velaryon. Her husband died two years ago and she's remarried. What is she trying to do, enrage both us and the Dondarrions?"

"My lord didn't look too enraged, though," the second man replied. "He looked pleased."

The first man huffed in disdain. "Pleased! Of course he'd be pleased. The royal match satisfied him to no end. He would have created us lots of problems. He wants his own blood to inherit. Too bad she didn't miscarry at the news of her widowhood. But she's got her mother's tenacity, I suppose. Six children did the Dayne harlot give the Prince in no time at all and if not for that unfortunate fall, she would have made them to twelve without being bedridden even for a day after."

Aegon felt his face become hot with anger. How _dared_ those men talk about Daella like this? About his own mother? He had no doubt that they would concoct some plan to steal Daella's boy inheritance. Perhaps there was an old custom that unborn children didn't exist yet so they couldn't inherit? He really doubted that they could pull the trick with the doubtful paternity and make it stick. What had happened between his infrequent appearances? It looked like Daella could use some help. Not that their father would let anyone walk over her, of course, but still!

"Come on!" Dunk hissed and drew him away. "What were you planning, demanding that they take it back or what?" he asked when they were a safe distance away.

"If I wanted to, what does it matter to you?" Aegon snapped back.

"It will matter to me if you end up killed before you could explain who you were! I didn't let you lug behind for all those years just so you can die here, in the royal castle," Dunk said angrily as they kept walking towards… where were they going, in fact?

"My father's chambers," Aegon replied when asked. He looked more composed now. " He's sure to have a bathtub prepared for him when he returns. He wouldn't want to keep the smells of the feast about him. And sweat," he added and laughed. "Perfumes and sweat. He cannot stand the smells of everyone he encounters on such occasions clinging to him."

Silently, they went. The night breeze brought over a whiff of something familiar, yet out of place.

"Blood oranges?" Dunk asked incredulously.

"My lady grandmother had a garden planted for her," Aegon replied. "Or after a visit to Dorne, my father and uncles liked them so much that they pestered the King to no end until he agreed to have one here. I am not sure which version is the true one. Either way, they made excellent weapons," he added. "Once the juice was in the hair, there was no taking it out."

Dunk was quite unimpressed. His time with his squire on the road had disabused him of any notions about serene embroidering queens and little princes and princesses who listened to their maesters in rapture.

"It's a place for love meetings as well," Aegon went on. "Lovers steal to the trees and whisper sweet nothings into each other's ears."

Dunk frowned. "Am I to believe that those two are lovers?" he asked; Aegon followed his look and gasped at the sight of three men dragging a woman between them, a woman who desperately writhed about and dug her heels in the soft earth in a vain attempt to get free.

* * *

 

By now, everyone was more than a bit tipsy and those who stumbled along the figures of the dance were not quite a few. Daella was lucky that she must have been born with wings on her legs because she never got her footing wrong even when drunk. Of course, she had never been properly drunk so she could hardly say for sure. But she had always loved dancing and tonight was no exception. The second change of partners sent her straight into a Cregan Stark's hands and she smiled, pleased that for one, she could just enjoy the evening without trying to recall everyone's name. She knew that she knew the Stark – and that was all there was to it. People didn't like it when she forgot their names but she couldn't memorize everyone who had ever been introduced to her. It was good that tonight, few people had faces.

The glittering candles provided light that was not quite as bright as the sun but was very flattering to the complexion. Daella had placed great care in disguising the evidence of her sleepless nights and the exquisite sea green mask drinking the blue circles under her eyes made sure that no one would know. People would talk but no one would know.

"Care to elope with me, my lady?" Cregan Stark asked. "I'll treasure you in a way your Targaryen husband can never value you, I swear!"

Daella flicked him with her fingers and twirled into the next figure. She felt lightheaded. For the first time since her husband's death she was genuinely enjoying herself.

Her lips pursed when she saw a pirate not too far away. Was she wrong, or was it really Rhae's betrothed? The woman with him wasn't her sister, that was for sure. She tugged her partner a little in that direction and he followed. Then, Daella had the pleasure of digging her heel straight into the pirate's foot with a swift apologetic smile and a shrug to show that it was an accident.

Stark laughed. "Well done, my lady," he said. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"I don't," Daella replied. "If Rhae had seen him from somewhere, that's what _she_ would have done. He was practically disrobing her right there!"

She finished the dance with none of the former joy. Rhae's wedding would take place two moons after – and the bridegroom was already showing lack of restraint. Daella wondered whether she should tell her sister. Rhae had to know, right? But what could she do? Complain to their father? Maekar would scold her for being jealous or worse, his anger would pour all over the unfortunate man's head.

"Take me to the dais," she said as soon as the dance was over.

As far as she could see between the many bodies hiding her view, there was almost no one at the dais. The King had probably left. The Queen who was an excellent dancer would hardly sit down until the end of the ball. Aelora was nowhere to be seen and Daella smiled a little at the thought that her cousin might have found a young admirer to escape with to the blood orange garden. Rhae was nowhere near but that was to be expected. Daella shuddered at the thought of Maekar finding out about his daughter's letters and kisses with the young Royce who only had his sword.

"May I accompany you, my lady?"

The voice that she didn't want to hear cut through the noise. Stark looked at her, clearly recognizing that the septon at her left was no one than her own husband.

"No," she said coldly and grabbed a goblet from the tray of a passing servant. She would have enough of his company at his dreadful castle or even here, for no one, even Maekar, had the right to stop the husband who wished to visit his wife's chambers at night. _Why don't you conceive_ , grasping hands, a body crushing her with its weight. _You Dornish whore_ , _why were you looking at him,_ a hand flying at her face… She drained her wine in a single gulp.

"Did you have to?" Manfred Dondarrion asked, his disgust evident. Daella couldn't say whether it was her downing the wine, or her costume that angered him more.

She huffed. "I am at home and I'll do what I want to!" she declared, knowing that no matter what, he wouldn't dare try anything too overtly while they were at King's Landing.

For a while, she sat alone on the dais, watching the music, the swirling bodies, the shouted conversations, the gestures soaked in flourish. All of a sudden, the people looked ridiculous and the expensive costumes stupid and vulgar. _Who really needs it_ , she wondered. _Who feels like celebrating?_ Not Uncle, for sure! Behind the laugher, behind the lavish occasions, real life peeked in all its ugliness.

Without thinking, she rose. She couldn't spend here a moment longer without suffocating.

She was already halfway when she realized where she was going: her children's room. Although she couldn't – and wouldn't – take Alyn away from Driftmark which was his birthright, she had always found comfort in Daenaera. But with her relationship with Manfred being as it was, she would have to leave her daughter here as well. With her moon blood coming as regularly as ever, she didn't feel that her children were safe around her husband. Sometimes, she felt as deprived as the Iron Throne's lowliest subject!

She was so wrapped in her misery that she noticed the pale gown only when she had almost walked into it.

A startled curse reached her, she turned and gave a little shriek when she saw, very close to her, a man with a face of rat. A mask of rat, she recognized a moment later, but before she could sigh with relief, she saw Aelora lying like a broken doll in the arms of the man with the mask of pig.

She opened her mouth to scream and an iron arm slammed against her throat from behind, choking her voice and almost breaking her vocal chords.

"Stay put, little princess," someone hissed in a low voice. "Stay put, or they'll receive their just desserts."

Now, Daella realized that a third man was carrying her own children under his arms. She saw their horrified eyes, the rags in their mouths. She felt weak in the knees.

"Come here, both of you, great ladies," the man behind her said mockingly. "Let us show you some good time."

Almost blinded with pain and fear, Daella tried to nod against the hand choking her and a moment later, it released her, only to poke her in the back, directing her towards their chosen destination.

 


	3. A Night in the White Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented!

Betha disliked this garden of oranges – a fact that quite surprised her because she liked the blood oranges themselves. She liked their aroma, their roundness, their very colour – all those things that were too strong, too intrusive when they were hanging from their branches in this wood of trees. _Some would tell that I'm too entrenched in the old ways,_ she thought. This garden is something that should be seen only at the very edge of the South. Dorne, namely. On the other hand, there were too many of those who thought that everything Dornish should stay in Dorne. Betha most emphatically disagreed.

She sighed. Who was she trying to fool? She disliked the place because of the past stirring her hair, whispering through the greens, carrying the voice of the one she had come here with. She didn't want to go back to the drunken gaiety of the great hall and she did not want to stay here but she could not slip away without attracting the notice of the couple on the marble bench. She should have known better than ever setting a foot here, no matter how hot she was… or how many suitors she wanted to avoid.

Finally, _finally_ the lady pulled her hands away and the man rose from his kneeling stance. Betha gave them some reasonable distance before following. If she stayed longer, another couple might dance in and she'd be saddled behind this tree for who knew how long.

Hmm, perhaps that was one of the reasons she disliked this garden for? She had just spent an inordinately amount of time watching the pair exchanged caresses that went far beyond mere gallant courtship.

Something stroke her as odd as she went on her way but she didn't give it much thought. She was already beyond the curve when she realized what was out of order: the door leading to the White Sword Tower was wide open and Betha happened to know that all of the seven knights were dispatched here or there in the Red Keep. There was a palpable tension surrounding the three men ruling the country and while the King did not seem to fear for his safety too much, her uncle Brynden and Prince Maekar were steady in demanding more and more of the Kingsguard. For months, their watch had been prolonged and their breaks gotten shorter. One of them being in the tower now and letting the door wide open?

Swiftly, she started back on her steps. Her heart was beating wildly and she could feel the fear wrapping around her like a steel armour but one that pressed tight against her almost to suffocation. Suddenly, she realized just how stupid she had been to go so far off in the darkness without anyone knowing, let alone accompanying her. The crowd in the great hall suddenly didn't seem so repellant anymore. Horror swelled in her throat and did not abate when she saw thе light that suddenly came to life at the topmost floor. The Lord Commander would never go to his chambers with the royal family still at the ball. And no servants would go there at this hour, if there was even a hand that could be spared from the great gathering.

She looked up and horror seized her tighter as she saw the sea green that stood right at the left window. She herself had helped Princess Daella prepare the Valaena Velaryon attire and she had seen Dondarrion's reaction to it. She could well imagine what the man was doing to her lady right now. He wouldn't dare try anything in the hall – as irked as he was by his daughter's bold declaration, Prince Maekar would never allow the man raise a hand against her. But if Ser Manfred had managed to drag her away from the others somehow? Betha knew that there was no such thing as a rape within marriage but as far as she was concerned, that was what the Princess was a victim of.

At least Daella wasn't in danger of something worse. Betha's heart slowed down a little – and then she heard the shriek, immediately choked out but full of such terror that the hairs at her nape rose _. Damn him to the seven hells_ , she thought. _I am going to the great hall. If the Prince decides that he cannot stay between a husband wanting his wife and her, at least I'll know that I tried._

The turquoise gown disappeared from view. Betha turned and ran back down the way she had come. At the curve, she turned round and looked again, to see the shadow of a tiny form writhing in a larger silhouette's arms. As Daella's companion since before the Princess' first marriage, she knew better than most how violent Ser Manfred became each moon when her lady's blood came. Little Daenaera was afraid of him and Daella took care to hold her out of his view – with good reason, in Betha's mind.

Fear moved her faster than she could imagine, so fast that she couldn't prevent her clash with the bear of a man hurrying towards her, although she saw him the moment before they bumped into each other.

"Where did they go?" the young man at the bear's left asked.

The worry on their faces immediately rekindled her own worst fears. Wordlessly, she pointed at the tower.

"Who's the woman?" he asked.

"Princess Daella," Betha replied and thought that his face might have paled but she was not sure in the darkness. He positively gaped.

"Run to the great hall," the huge man said. "Tell Prince Maekar what's going on. There were two men that we saw attacking a woman who was not…"

"They took Aelora," his companion interrupted. "And now Daella as well? Go now!"

Betha was about to follow his command when she remembered something. "Take care," she said. "I think at least one of the Princess' children is in his hands as well."

She turned back, leaned over to untie her slippers which would only hamper her, and ran away in the darkness. Behind her, the two men ran in the opposite direction.

* * *

A resounding slap echoed all over the Lord Commander's bedchamber. Aelora's head snapped back, her cheek turned scarlet but just a moment later she screamed savagely, her thin clawlike fingers reached out, brought the head of the disgusting pig closer and before he could recover from his surprise, tore his mask away. There was no conscious thought in her eyes right now and he drew back involuntarily, a little scared.

This brief moment of hesitance was all she needed. Like a cornered animal, she felt her predator's fear and again like an animal, she sank her teeth into his cheek and clamped them, tearing flesh away.

He roared and the slap that resulted was such that she could only whimper and the world went dark before her eyes. He caught her listless body before it hit the floor and threw her on the bed – a hard one but a bed nonetheless.

The two children were whimpering; her eyes wide, Daella instinctively reached for them.

"Is it only the boy, or should the girl go as well?" the hawk asked.

The rat pressed Daella's arms tighter against her sides. "I am not sure," he said. "He hesitated to the last, giving contradiction assignments. I guess the boy might be enough at the end. But I am not sure."

"But if he doesn't pay us the whole sum?" the hawk asked, concerned. "If we leave her alive?"

The rat shrugged. "We'll arrive at a decision later," he said. "Anyway, you can make use of her beforehand. I know you like them young."

"No!" Daella shrieked through the blood trickling through her lower lip and struggled to escape his hold. Her eyes desperately ran around the austere room. No help from anywhere. "Please," she whispered. "Please, I beg you, I'll do anything…"

"Yes," the rat corrected and stroked her soft hair. Behind his mask, Daella could not see the exultation her pleas invoked. All his life, he had been waiting to hear a highborn pleading to him like this. "But before, I'll check for myself what has given the Velaryon joy for all those years."

He laughed and reached for the nearby table. In expectation for Ser Roland's return, there was a goblet of wine waiting. He grabbed it and brought it to his mouth, forgetting that he was wearing a mask. The wine spilled all over his chin and Daella, entered her mouth, burned her eyes, blinding her. She moaned with pain. He pushed her on the floor and knelt with his calves on both her sides. He knew that she wouldn't bring her legs together and kick him from behind and she didn't. Not while the hawk was still holding Alyn in his arms and his foot casually pressed Daenaera on the carpet.

"Be good," the rat said. "If you try anything like what she did, I'll crash your precious dragonets' heads with my boot right now."

Daella didn't move, only turned her head left and then right. On one side, her children were crying; on the other, the pig was plunging deep into Aelora who was still lying with her eyes closed and her face lacking any expression. Everything that Daella had put in her mouth tonight spilled on the floor and the rat laughed raucously. "Should I press your face into your own vomit, little princess?" he asked but instead, he cut her gown from neck to belly. And froze. He had never seen a woman like her, with skin as white and soft, like the fine fabrics highborn ladies wore. Daella closed her eyes and shivered when he extended his dirty hand and palmed her neck and the hollow between her breasts. His smell assaulted her nostrils and started choking her. Tears ran down her cheeks and when she opened her eyes, he was untying his breeches. _Please, Mother, she prayed fervently_ , looking around desperately, _please help us. Please make someone come!_

But he lifted her skirts and the blood from her lips was still tricking.

 


	4. Reign of Horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who commented!

When the White Sword Tower emerged into their view, Aegon sighed with relief that was rather bizarre, given the circumstances. Some instinct told him that by seeing the tower itself, the terrible things that were happening inside could not come to pass. What his imagination had painted had suddenly become less frightening now that he saw the place. He could run upstairs and stop it.

Behind the curtain of the lit chamber on the last floor, nothing stirred. For some reason this scared him anew, although not so acutely. And the silence. Way too silent. What was going on now, in this eerie stillness? The window was set quite low in the wall. They should be seeing some silhouettes… unless the people inside were in quite _low_ positions themselves.

"Come on," he urged and kept running. But another fear pushed him forward as well. Daella's children were there, the black-haired girl had said. He had _just_ heard two Velaryons expressing disdain by the children's very existence. A small child's life was such a precious thing. So fragile.

Panting, they stopped in front of the open door and peered into the darkness.

"Egg," Ser Duncan suddenly spoke. "They won't harm the children, will they? The little ones are so young, no one would…"

Aegon drew a sharp breath, suppressing an angry rebuff. How had Ser Duncan survived in this world for so long? Had they not heard Ser Eustace expressing wish to kill a woman over a stream? Driftmark was quite the prize in comparison. Of course they would!

"Come on," he urged. "Let's go upstairs."

But neither of them had any idea where the staircase was and the darkness was no help. They stumbled around blindly, their fear growing. Dunk clashed into something wooden and cursed.

"Be quiet!" Aegon hissed and then followed his own advice because they had heard noise above that made them freeze.

Just where they had come from, descending footsteps echoed. _We must have missed the stairs_ , Aegon thought and the two of them rushed back.

They were too late, though. When they emerged into the moonlit hallway, they only saw a dark shadow moving away from the tower. Had the attackers left the girls alone? Aegon's breath thundered loudly in his own ears – and then the man turned to look over his shoulder and he gasped. The moonlight only showed him the disgusting beak of a hawk.

No, not only.

"Go after them!" Dunk encouraged and Aegon obeyed without thinking twice, focused on the small pale head with closed eyes clearly visible against the dark-cloaked shoulder of the man. "Be careful," Dunk added because no one could say what the hawk might do to the child if he realized that they were being followed.

The man had unknowingly shown them where the stairs were. Dunk found them almost immediately and started climbing, grateful that he had had the chance to send the boy away. He didn't know what Egg would do if he saw the men upstairs – how many of them were there? – doing what Dunk suspected they were doing to Princess Daella right now.

He had just reached the last step of this flight when far above him, a woman screamed.

* * *

 

Princess Rhae emerged from the shadow of a wall just when Betha was looking back to make sure that there were no more of those intruders, whoever they were. The state of her hair and the blush of her face did not leave any doubt as to what she had been engaged in. No doubt the young knight was somewhere off on his merry way already.

"What's wrong?" Rhae asked. "You look…"

"Go back where there are people," Betha said curtly, stopping only for a moment. "Send guards to the White Sword Tower. A danger."

Without looking back to see whether the Princess had taken up to her orders, she kept running, her bare feet already numb with the coldness of green dew.

The crowd in the great hall was just as numerous and drunken as Betha had last seen it. No, it was worse. More drunken. And more numerous. Had everyone in this castle decided to make their way to this hall?

An arm wrapped about her from behind. A reddened face smiled at her. "Care to dance, my lady?" the old pirate asked, trying to drag her to the dancing floor, now cleared from all tables and chairs.

She didn't even need to step on his foot, as she intended – her glare was clearly terrifying enough for him to look away and murmur, "I was just asking."

The arm fell off her and she proceeded to the dais, looking around to ward off the next man in need of a partner in advance.

"What's wrong?" a woman asked and Betha spun left to spat an angry response but chose not to when she saw the woman she now faced. Shiera Seastar, no mask or mouldy attire for her, was giving her a look of worry.

"Trouble," Betha only said. "Where is Uncle? Or Prince Maekar?"

Shiera scowled. "I care not where your uncle is," she said coolly. "As to the Prince, he was having an argument with his goodson. I'll send someone over to clean the blood afterwards but for now, I'll let him proceed."

Betha's alarm reached a feverish level. If the man raping her lady wasn't her husband… Who on earth would dare…? _They took Aelora_ , the young stranger had said. Who were _they_? And what wouldn't they dare? No one would choose a princess, let alone two, for such a simple thing as rape.

"Warrior's balls," Shiera cursed and turned back immediately. "This way," she cried over her shoulder. "I saw Brynden going this way. I'll meet you at the dais."

Betha walked away in the direction the older woman had given her. She must look frightening enough because no one dared impede her progress. Indeed, people moved away to clear her way – all for naught. She couldn't see her uncle anywhere.

Perhaps she could get better view from the dais.

"What?" the King asked as soon as Betha ran up the stairs. "What is it?"

Betha almost screamed out in frustration. Was this the moment for Aerys Targaryen to lose his notorious absent-mindedness and start demanding explanations? Of course, she had needed only a few weeks to realize that the King was far less unobservant than people gave him credit for. But he was hardly able to act effectively to solve the crisis – and explaining things to him would take from the time she needed to look for her uncle.

"What's wrong, child?" her uncle asked, stepping away from the shadows, and at the same time she saw Prince Maekar and a man she did not know walking briskly towards the dais, conversing intently with Shiera Seastar, and she suddenly found her breath again, drew it in, and prepared for explaining.

* * *

Aelora's screams had turned into agonized whimpers and then faded into nothing. Her face was covered in bright red spots and grazes; in the morning, she'd be all bruised black and blue. But what terrified Daella was her utter stillness, the lack of any sensations that her face betrayed. Her eyes glazed like cold amethysts, like stars in a clear moonless night just when a thin mist of a cloud veiled them, so distant and dulled. She had to feel something as the pig rammed into her repeatedly, aroused by his victory against her attempts of resistance.

Daenaera's sobs pulled at her mother's heart as the child tried to rise but her tied hands and feet prevented almost any movements. At least she was where Daella could see her. She wanted to scream with horror. Where had the hawk taken Alyn? Fear was spreading cold numbness over her heart that only her daughter's weeping was able to cut through.

A small dagger glinted on the floor, not too far away, and when the flickering shadows retreated from it, sometimes the thought that she had to scramble her way to it somehow flashed in her mind. But just like she could feel nothing in her heart but Daenaera's sobbing and Alyn's unknown fate, she could think of nothing but the repulsive actions that were taking place within her own body. His weight, his smell, this disgusting mask of a rat… She had even stopped noticing the smell of her own vomit in which the side of her face had been pressed at one time. She was twisting desperately, pushing him away, kicking him with all her might but he was still over her, in her, and she could not even allow herself the bliss of oblivion because of Daenaera. When he tried to kiss her, she felt relieved that what pressed against her was the coldness of a mask but he tore it off and pressed again. She sank her teeth in his lip, trying to draw blood, and he slapped her so that her head turned and her cheek hit the floor.

All the time, he never stopped plunging.

"Aren't you going to finish already?" she hissed. "I feel sick!"

A creak from the hallway made everyone freeze.

"Someone is coming," the pig said hoarsely and the rat slipped out of Daella. For a moment, she lay there faint with relief but then saw the two men creeping to position themselves behind the door and in the middle of the bedchamber and realized that it was not over. Far from that.

 


	5. Hanging by a Hair's Breadth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you dear everyone who left a comment!

Aegon's heartbeat roared in his ears but after a while, it calmed down. The masked man did not realize he was being followed and did not turn once. Aegon could have trailed him openly, for all his attention to details but of course, he didn't. He kept to the dark corners and pools of shadows that the man he was following was helpfully and unwittingly showing him.

It was weird to steal through the Red Keep like a brigand himself. The walls he had hidden behind as a child in a number of games looked smaller but no less menacing; somewhere far away, the sounds of the celebration he was missing on still echoed, summoning precious memories of hiding in the high gallery, to the delight of the musicians, and throwing balls of bread at the heads of courtiers he particularly disliked. Now, he was a grown man and what was happening here was no game. The royal castle was suddenly a hostile and dangerous place. More than once, he thought he was hearing footsteps behind him but when he turned, holding his breath and ready to face one of the hawk's accomplices, he only found stillness and the pumping of his own blood in his veins. In front of him, the artificial lake shone soft and attractive.

And then the man reached it, made a movement, and Aegon ran forward, all caution thrown to the wind. His instincts had grasped what was going on before he did. The hawk intended to drown Daella's son in the lake!

Now, he cursed his caution. Had he been less cautious, now he would have been closer to them! His terrified eyes saw the masked man dropping the little boy in the water face down and then starting to get in to press a heavy boot against the small back to keep him there.

This time, though, the hawk heard the running footsteps and spun back just as Aegon bore down at him, sword in hand. Over the mask, his eyes widened, he grabbed the tip of the blade with both hands and held it away from his belly. Blood came gushing out and Aegon pressed further. The man stepped back.

Aegon looked at the lake and to his horror saw that the small body was floating across the surface. The boy had been unconscious before the man threw him in the lake. He was going to drown! Aegon's only chance was to kill the murderer now and drag him out but the man was still successful in keeping the tip of Aegon's sword away… At this moment, the footsteps behind him echoed again, running this time, and a dark-haired woman shot past him in the darkness, ran into the cold water without any hesitation and just when Aegon's sword went through the throat of the murderer, she started wading back and he waded in to help her. She readily left the boy in his arms and when they were both out and she looked up, he recognized her. Rhae!

"We must turn him over," he spoke and did so, grasping for any hint of remembrance of what he had seen smallfolk do with those who had just been dragged out of the stream, dead or alive.

* * *

 

The footsteps were coming closer, slow and cautious, so unbearably cautious. _They already know you're here,_ Daella wanted to scream _. Give up on caution. Hurry up!_ She almost opened her mouth but the rat spun back and looked meaningfully at her little girl, as if he had read her mind, so Daella stayed silent and curled in a ball of misery. Pleased, he nodded and turned back to the door.

As the footsteps approached, she gathered herself together and forbade herself to think of the pain between her legs. Crouching on all fours, she shuffled sideways, her eyes darting between the dagger and the men. Aelora stirred and then stirred again. Daenaera looked at her mother with wide eyes and Daella placed a finger on her lips, praying that her daughter would not scream. A little more shuffling, and the dagger was closer, almost within reach, pale as milk and glowing like a moon path. How could a common cutthroat have such a fine weapon? She looked at Daenaera one last time and smiled with her torn lips to show that everything was fine. Then, she negotiated the last few inches and her hand closed around the wooden hilt.

The footsteps were already before the door. No one was looking at her anymore. No one paid her any attention – both monsters were focused on the unknown enemy who'd make his presence known in a heartbeat. Stealthily, Daella came close and raised her arm.

The moment the door creaked open, she lunged forward and jabbed the closest back, throwing all of her weight into the motion. The force of the contact was such that the blade sank into the flesh up to the hill; the man fell flat on his face like a fallen tree but he still had the presence of mind to grab her ankle. She hadn't killed him! Damnation! She looked down, saw the white fingers grappling about her flesh and screamed because all of a sudden they looked like spider legs to her, so long and thin. He – now she saw it was the pig – tried to drag her down with all of his remaining strength, blood gushing from his wound and gathering into a lake beneath his lowed part. Mesmerised, stunned by her own action, Daella couldn't move.

Daenaera was already wailing without restrain, a long piercing shriek full of more horror than any book in the Citadel could convey. "Mama!"

A pair of long legs stepped over Daella and grabbed Daenaera. For a moment of wild panic, she thought it was not someone who had come to save them but another attacker, an accomplice. But a moment later, he ran back into the chamber on his own, and the rat cursed, and she knew that it was no enemy but someone who had brought her daughter out of the place of danger. All of a sudden, her senses came rushing back and when she tugged anew, she was able to shake the grasp of the pig away.

And then, everything was plunged into darkness. Daella blinked and felt arms reaching for her and she screamed and fought because she recognized the smell before everything else. "You and I, Princess, we'll go away together," the rat wheezed in her ear and started dragging her along, and she realized what he would do and knew she would be dead before the man who had saved Daenaera could even find his bearings into the unknown and dark room.

* * *

 

A woman's scream filled the night, wild, uncontrollable, unlike a human voice at all, and yet it was a woman's one.

Horror grasped Maekar by the heart, filled his veins, clouded his vision. A moment later, he regained command over his frozen limbs and started running.

"That was Aelora," Aerys whispered, following close by.

Maekar was stung with remorse because of the relief he felt when he realized his brother was right. Far before them, he suddenly saw Rhae and… Aegon? By the Seven, it was truly Aegon. But the path made a turn and they disappeared from his view.

The next turn, though, revealed them exactly in the same spot they had been before, frozen save for the wind whipping their hair about. Their faces were turned towards the White Sword Tower that Maekar still could not see. In Aegon's arms, Alyn lay unconscious.

He felt chilled. What were they staring at?

"Daella!" Rhae yelled. "Don't you dare give up!"

"Come on, Ser, just a little more, he's falling, he's falling…" Aegon encouraged.

Aelora screamed again and the next turn of the path revealed what had been hidden a moment ago.

It was like something that one might see in his nightmares. The dark tower… The struggling figures… The moonlight shone all over the disgusting man with the face of rat who was hanging between life and death, striving for death and taking Daella with him slowly, mercilessly… Maekar saw his daughter's white horrified face, the tears cascading down her cheeks, and made a step forward without thinking.

A strong hand pulled him back. "Do not," Brynden warned. "Don't talk. Don't distract her. She can still hold on if…"

"If?" Fear was closing his icy hand around Maekar. Never in his life had he felt so helpless. He could only stand and stare as Daella desperately tried to fight the dead weight that was the man determined to die as from above, Aegon's huge knight was trying to pull her over without falling himself.

"She will fight that through." Ser Ultor Dayne's words sounded more like a plea than certainty. "She's like Dyanna in all things and Dyanna was stronger than people thought her. They thought she'd fall as soon as a stronger breeze caught up with her but she didn't."

 _But she couldn't survive the sea and childbirth at once_ , Maekar thought dazedly and yet for a moment, it was his goodbrother that he wanted to believe and no one else. His eyes cut through the darkness, sought for signs that Daella had given up like so many weary men-at-arms did at the battlefield when facing yet another rival. After a while, fighting on became just too exhausting…

And then, it was over. With a horrifying shriek, the rat let go off Daella's waist and fell four stories down, all the way to his death, and Dunk of Flea Bottom pulled with all his might and stumbled back, probably fell on his back, but inside, with Daella safely in his arms.

"He did it," Brynden said softly. His eyes were wide and Maekar could almost swear that he saw his teeth clattering before he brought himself under control.

A moment later, everyone rushed to the tower, still dark and in any way telling of the horror that had taken place within it mere heartbeats ago.

 

 


	6. Harsh Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, loads of thanks to everyone who commented!

The first thing they saw at rushing through the door was blood. In fact, Rhae slipped in it and only her father's fast reaction saved her from falling down, in the pool of blood. A pool!

Aelora's eyes were wide and wild, her bruised face contorted in expression that had little to do with a human one. At some point in their running upstairs, her throat had been unable to keep the scream going; now, it had turned into a low keening, incessant and no less terrible.

Near the window, Ser Duncan the Tall stood helplessly, unsure of what to do. He had lit a few candles and in their light, they could take the entire bedchamber in. Right under the window, Daella had pressed her back against the wall, holding Daenaera to her. She looked like she had slid down the wall when her legs had refused to support her anymore. She held the child so close to her that the knuckles of her fingers on Daenaera's back had gone white. She did not look at them and just kept squeezing the little girl, as if she had not noticed their arrival at all. She looked so small, almost like a child herself, as if she had shrunken by half.

Maekar strode over the man with the mask of a pig without bothering to look if he still breathed. The next step to the window let him have a better look at the two silver heads. By the Seven, there were red stains here as well!

No, it was not Daella or Daenaera's blood and that made him feel relief once again. When he reached to check once again, Daella looked up and the bleakness in her eyes made him shiver. She looked out of touch with reality. Only when Aegon stepped forward and gave Alyn to her making it a point not to look at her did Maekar realize that she was absolutely naked. In fact, the thing next to his shoe seemed to be a shred of her gown. Had these scoundrels… For a moment, everything went black with shock and horror.

With a muffled curse, Aegon made a step back to the fallen and bleeding man, raised a foot and kicked him in the ribs with such force that he must have broken enough of them to make him shriek in pain if he were conscious. At first, Maekar looked at him approvingly but then changed his mind and at the same moment, Brynden pulled Aegon back.

"Don't be an idiot!" Maekar snapped. "Dead men cannot talk. We have to know who sent him."

"I can tell you this," Aegon replied equally tasty. "The bloody Velaryons who don't want Daella's boy in their way, that's who. I suppose Aelora simply found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, can I keep going on?"

"No," Aerys said as Maekar took his doublet off and placed it on Daella's shoulders. Without that, everyone would see her bare breasts the moment she released the children from her arms.

"Come on," he said softly. "Give the children to me and rise. You're going to all catch your death from cold. Aegon, why is Alyn wet all over?"

"Because one of these villains tried to drown him in the lake, that's why," his son replied angrily and Daella shrunk even more.

Slowly, Rhae started advancing toward her cousin. Aelora's keening seemed to be paralyzing her but she still went, step by step. Maekar arranged the attire around Daella since she didn't seem capable of thinking about such complex thing. Aegon started to kick the fallen man again but stopped himself in time. Brynden Rivers knelt next to him and checked his breathing.

"Is he dead?" Shiera asked.

"No, unfortunately," Aegon spat. "I saw him stir."

"I'm going to call the maesters," she announced and swept out of the room as fluidly as if she was going back to the ball. A moment later, Dunk realized that this impression was quite deceiving. Her grace did much to hide the fact that she was moving extremely fast, almost running. The Lord Hand looked around and the King silently handed him a tablecloth to staunch the bleeding with.

"What's this?" Aerys suddenly asked, his rheumy eyes proving better than any of the younger men's. He was pointing at a tiny edge showing out of inside of the man's breast. Aegon reached out to take it carefully and made a step aside to read it.

Suddenly, Aelora's keening turned into a wild shriek once again, so piercing that little Daenaera started crying anew. Aelora held both her hands before her, trying to stop Rhae from coming near.

Rhae's face was white with fear but she still made a step forward. By the looks Aelora was giving the men around, it was clear that she'd let none of _them_ near. Perhaps Rhae had a chance.

"Come on, Aelora," she murmured. "Come with me. Please."

Her cousin pushed her away and Rhae hesitated – a moment too long. Just when she stepped back, Aelora pushed her with such force that Rhae barely held her balance, then grabbed her by the shoulders and started shaking her.

For someone so small and slender, she was stunningly strong, far stronger than Rhae. It took Maekar's efforts to separate the two of them and even for him, it was not an easy task. Aelora was beside herself and while he wanted to restrain her without harming her, she did not feel such restraints. For a moment, Dunk was terribly scared that Maekar would have no choice but hit his niece and came close because if this came to pass, _he'd_ have no other choice but hit Maekar but it didn't happen. Maekar simply pushed Rhae out of the harm's way before Aelora finally got so weary that she simply hung in his arms like a ragdoll.

"Come on, Daella," Aegon said softly and raised her to her feet. Aerys had taken the children from her and she now looked to be coming to herself – only to burst out in tears of the shock of all of it. She clung to his hand anyway.

"Would you give me the parchment?" Bloodraven asked calmly. "It might give us some clue as to who he it…"

To Dunk's surprise, Aegon blushed furiously and tucked the parchment in his threadbare jerkin, as if he was scared that the Hand of the King might try to take it by force. "I'll keep it," he said and looked aside as Rhae was wrapping her sister's lower part in her own shawl. Somehow, the bruises and scratches on Daella's body and the jagged line of blood down her thigh looked just as terrible as the remains of men who had died in battle.

"Bring to me the Velaryons my nephew mentioned," Aerys ordered his Hand.

"What, right now?" Rhae asked as she led her sister to the door. "Why don't you wait until…"

"Because I don't want to," the King replied simply. "And I want to question them until I have some advantages."

"Like?" she demanded.

"Like your father in fresh fury," Aerys replied simply and that reasoning, Dunk could find no fault with.

* * *

Less than an hour later, three men were brought to the King's antechamber but Aerys deliberately make them wait – without being allowed to leave or talk to anyone. The servants passing through the wide room did not react to any attempts to be contacted. A silent Kingsguard watched from the shadows, so they were not inclined to talk among themselves.

It was already near sunrise when the King expressed readiness to see them and by then, they were all quite pale, as pale as the too faint light coming through the windows. Aegon thought that even the sun seemed to be unwilling to look upon the aftermath of the horror, yet they had to.

With the three men's fair hair, Aegon realized that he could not say which ones of them had engaged in the conversation he had occurred. It had been too dark, the light too pale, his position too uncomfortable. The fact that his eyes stung after the sleepless night did not help matters. He stood unobtrusively in his place a good distance away from his father and uncle, stared at the newcomers, and tried to remember. Next to him, Dunk was trying to do the same but through no fault of his own, he was failing spectacularly in the unobtrusive part.

Lord Velaryon was sitting in a chair near the window. His face was absolutely impassive, his heart a battlefield of anger and relief. He already knew that his grandchildren were going to live.

The King's Hand was standing half-wrapped in shadows, his eye glinting all the brighter for that. The Velaryons gave him a single look and then were quick to look away.

"I take it that you know what happened?" Aerys asked as soon as the newcomers were done with their bows. His face revealed nothing, his voice even less.

"Not at all, Your Grace," one of them replied. Aegon listened to him carefully, trying to find out whether he was one of the two he had overheard. He didn't think so. "No one could say anything for sure, although there are all kind of speculations. We only heard someone was killed…"

"That's right," Aerys confirmed. "I was not asking about the rumours, though."

"I thought you _knew_ ," Lord Velaryon spoke. In the look he gave his cousin, there were all signs of full-blown hatred. "My grandchildren almost became victims of a bunch of murderers. I thought you might tell us something about it."

"Are you accusing us of something, my lord?" the man snapped. "It might be true that we weren't happy to go down in the succession but between that and wishing harm upon children, there's a big difference."

"Save yourselves the explanations," Maekar interrupted , his face stony. "I know what you did and there's no way for you to walk away with it. If something happens to my daughter or her children, remember it well, if any shade of harm comes to them, I'll find you at the end of the world. Do you understand it? At the end of the world!"

Aegon was watching carefully the faces of the three men when his father threw the accusation and in the quick casting of their looks away, he knew they were guilty.

"You are wrong, Your Grace," another of them spoke and now, Aegon recognized the man who had first expressed disgust at the attire Daella had chosen.

"He isn't," he spoke up. Everyone looked at him and he stepped forward. He looked at his father and uncle and said without hesitation, "I saw them in the garden just this night when they had no idea they were watched. They expressed regret that Daella didn't lose her babe at the news of her husband's death. They insulted her and said vile things about our mother." He paused. "They also said Lord Velaryon would have created many problems for them because he wanted his own blood to inherit. What problems would he have created, Sers? What was the problem with his own blood inheriting?"

Three heads turned to him simultaneously. "And who is the one who makes this accusation?"

"I am Aegon Targaryen," the young man said and with delight took note of their sudden pallor. "And I say you're barking like dogs against justice and honour. You planned this attack against my sister and her children. I know this, she told me about the conversation of the murderers..."

It was true. After a hot bath and a good amount of calming potion, Daella had recalled the events of last night as best as she could, although she would still not look either of them in the eye. It sickened Aegon to look at her so defeated, so ashamed, as if she had wronged someone instead of being wronged.

One of the men swallowed with effort. "I am sure you're wrong, Your Grace."

"I can ascertain the truth soon enough," Brynden Rivers put in mildly and in less than a minute, he was granted custody of the three who were now formally arrested, on Prince Aegon and Princess Daella's word. To everyone's concern, Aelora was still in no state to give evidence. Since she had woken up, she had been only staring at the wall and muttering to herself.

"Do you think it's going to stick?" Aegon turned to his father after the three men had been led away and the Hand had followed.

Maekar sighed and rubbed at his forehead. "I can't see why not," he said.

"We cannot use what they did to Daella, though. It should never be confirmed. Her husband…"

"Do you think I care a whit of how her husband is going to feel?" Maekar snapped and looked at his brother. "Has the pig man started talking?"

"Oh yes." Aerys' normally kind and absent-minded face was lit by some grim, savage delight. "Unfortunately, he was just an executor. Doesn't have the brains to be in charge, it seems. They're still working on him."

Maekar nodded. "What about the parchment?" he asked, looking at his son.

Aegon felt his cheeks blush. Damnation, he had hoped that they had forgotten all about that! "What parchment?" he asked and immediately felt stupid. With the feeling of doom, he took it out and handed it to his father. Then, he waited for the inevitable storm.

"What's all this about?" Dunk asked, leaning down to his charge's ear. "Why should a whore's outpourings be so…"

"She wasn't a whore," Aegon snapped angrily. His mentor had glimpsed a part of the letter – only a part, thankfully.

To his shock, his father didn't fly into a rage, although he looked at the signature almost immediately. Maekar only sighed. "So, it's here after all those years," he said.

Aegon shifted his weight. "Father…" he started.

Maekar gave him a harsh look. "So you found this at his breast?" he asked, as if he hoped to hear it wasn't so.

Aegon nodded because he wasn't sure what to say.

"What's this?" Aerys asked.

"One of Dyanna's tricks," Maekar snapped and then Aegon saw it. The anger. His father's hands clenched in fists and crumpled the parchment. His eyes threw daggers at the fair-haired man whom he pushed the letter to, Aegon's Dayne uncle. Stunned, Aegon watched the display.

Ultor Dayne read a few lines and then blushed furiously. He looked at Maekar, amazed. "What's all this about?"

"Can't you tell?" Maekar snapped. "You had much longer experience with her than me. Dyanna and her stories! Can't you remember this one? Gods, I've always know that one day, she'd bring trouble."

To Aegon's surprise, his uncle glared at Maekar with equal anger. "If memory serves me right, you could never resist her stories when she was alive. I don't know the purpose of this one but…" He paused, remembering. "Ah. Well, you wed her after she wrote those letters, so I really don't understand what's your problem with her now. You knew who you were dealing with."

"That I did," Maekar confirmed. "The greatest liar and whore in the Seven Kingdoms if she was to be believed."

"Oh stop talking nonsense!" was Lord Dayne's heated reply. "She never meant for the letters to be sent to anyone. Anyway, do we have to discuss it in front of others?" He gave Lord Velaryon a meaningful look.

Maekar waved his apprehensions away with an angry gesture of his hand. "Ah, he's well aware of the matter," was his icy reply. "He actually _received_ one of the letters that your sister never meant to send… I cannot say which one of us was more embarrassed, he or I…"

"Wait for a moment," Aegon interrupted because he understood some things and others had just become more murky. "You mean that my mother… and Lord Velaryon…"

"No!" the man in question stuttered. "I never…"

"That was just one of Dyanna's tales," Ultor Dayne tried to explain. "She was very inventive but that was all there was to it. Your father knows that she was a maiden in their wedding night. She was just terrified of wedding him because they had just had some… problems in their acquaintance…"

"One of her _tales_?"

"Aegon doesn't remember her," Maekar finally explained. "He doesn't know." He looked at his son. "Your mother was the most talented liar I have ever met," he said. "That's why she the idea of writing dozens of letters to half the men in Westeros claiming that she had slept with them and leaving them where I would find them occurred to her at all… She hoped I would break the betrothal. She certainly didn't mean to have any of them sent… but three of the letters disappeared anyway. Gods! Why didn't someone grab her and snatch the quill from her! I've never seen anyone else concocting such lies as soon as they took a quill in their hand."

_And there are those who don't even need a quill_ , Dunk thought. Finally, he knew where the lady's sons' talents of liars came from. He had never thought they had taken it from their father.

"She was not!" Aegon protested hotly. "A liar, I mean."

_Really_? Dunk wondered. If the Princess had written tens of letters claiming to have lain with most lords in Westeros while she was still a virgin, it was hard to describe her in any other way.

"She was." Maekar's anger seemed to have abated a little. "She was always full of tales. She could go to the most boring place and return with stories that were extremely entertaining. But she was bloody _dangerous_."

"She was not," Aegon said again but this time in lower voice.

"Oh yes, she was," Lord Dayne confirmed. "She was mostly harmless, though. I remember when my lord father first took her to travel outside of Dorne. She came back with a tale how she had caused a girl riot at Dragonstone…"

"A tale?" Maekar interrupted. "This one was true. She had been there in less than a week when she got the other girls in trouble with her fanciful tales…" He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "Never mind that. Three of the letters Dyanna wrote were never recovered. One of them appearing after thirty years… What does it mean?"

"It means," Aerys said, "that what happened tonight went far beyond greed for Driftmark. Someone is trying to bring you down, Maekar. We have to know where this letter was found and find the rest if they were not destroyed. Tell Brynden that's he's allowed to use any means to wring the truth out of the prisoner."

Maekar nodded, his face grim. Dunk wondered if he could actually debase himself like this, explaining to the Hand just what his wife had done.

"Come on," Aegon told him. "There's no use of us here anymore."

Dunk was only too happy to follow him outside – where, to their surprise, they found the black-haired girl from last night on the staircase at the wall of the solar where the Kingsguard at the door could not see her. At spotting them, she drew back and blushed so profusely that there would be no doubt as to what she had been doing.

"Were you eavesdropping?" Aegon asked.

"Of course not!" she exclaimed indignantly and with a swish of her skirts turned her back on them and strode away angrily.

Aegon laughed a little. "What a liar," he murmured, watching her retreat.

 


	7. Masks of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented, you're all gold!

Outside, the day went on under the most beautiful sun they had had in months – warm but not overly hot, bright but not so much that one couldn't see far ahead. A faint breeze stirred the air, giving the lungs a much needed respite. Outside, the sea emanated a breeze of salt that, a rare thing for King's Landing, was not intrusive but refreshing. Maekar wondered when he had last felt the breathing of sea as something so gentle. At Starfall, many years ago? The last time when he had been there with Dyanna? Most likely. It had been such a nothingness there, such an everyday thing. So easy to slip below notice. Now, Maekar noticed it and it hit him as an irony that today, of all days, should be so beautiful.

At the door, he hesitated, feeling much like he had when he had approached the cage of the lions the Prince of Pentos had sent his father on his accession to the throne. The lions had at least kept some allure. Seeing Daella in broad daylight after the nightmare of last night held none. This far, he had successfully avoided it. But he couldn't go on like this forever.

Following his cues, the servant opened the double doors leading to Daella's apartments. Maekar entered and almost clashed with Rhae who was going out. At seeing him, she changed her plans and instead walked next to him down the halls leading to her sister's more private chambers.

"How is she?" Maekar asked. "What of the children?"

Rhae wouldn't look him in the eye. "She barely says a word and I don't think she listens to me when I try to say something. She spent the entire morning in her bathchamber. The children are still sleeping. The maesters will give them the milk of the poppy again later. They say it'll be better if they sleep it off. A better chance to forget."

Maekar nodded. "Makes sense," he agreed. He prayed the children were young enough to forget, tried to remember when his first memories originated from and couldn't. A fear like no other, yet strangely familiar descended over him. He pushed it away – barely but he did it.

Daella was sitting in a big soft chair – well, not so soft now. She had taken the cushions down and it looked like she had tried to tear the upholstery apart. Her face was flushed but the ugly bruises had already started showing in all their sickening glory. She looked at her father but her face remained devoid of any expression. Maekar stopped dead in his tracks, the memory of Rhaegel when faced with more than he could bear cutting him with the power of a battle axe.

But then Daella nodded, barely perceptibly, and he could breathe again. He came closer and realized that the flush on her cheeks was not that. It was redness, sore and ugly, and it enveloped her neck and hands, every visible part of her, up to her eyelids. She had been scrubbing herself to blood in the hot water… How hot? Maekar bathed hot, to the point that his servants handled his bathwater with caution even after he was done because they feared some unpleasant scalding – but he had never inflicted such wounds to himself.

_Except for those two times…_

It was different for Daella, though. She wasn't the one to blame. For anything. It pained him to see her trying to scrub herself clean of nastiness that was not of her doing.

"Do not," his daughter said hoarsely.

_Do not what?_

"Don't ask me if I am well. I am not."

Since that stupid question was the exactly same one that Maekar had meant to ask, he fell silent. But then Daella reached out and he took her hand, very gently. He could see the scalding, the blood of her scrubbing – and also the scars and bruises where the men had grabbed her. Shame and guilt gripped him with such force that he couldn't say anything had he wanted to. He had been the one encouraging the girls to go to the ball when even Aelora had gathered courage to tell him that they didn't wish to attend. He had failed to keep an eye on her when he knew that her husband was near – he had stupidly believed that the man was the only threat for her, that being in the Red Keep, she was safe from him. _You and your plans_ , Dyanna's voice rang in his head, loud and exasperated. _You're so focused on avoiding a particular outcome that sometimes, you end up with something equally bad._ Somehow, the sight of this slim hand with bruised swollen flesh and broken nails that still wore the paint was just as terrible as the worst wounds he had seen at the battlefields. Or even more. On the small table next to her, an empty cup sat. Maekar felt the sweet-bitter aroma of tansy and looked away, his bile rising.

Daella was still silent. Maekar and Rhae shared a look of equal helplessness. _It's a good thing I am not so sure I believe in the Seven anymore_ , Maekar thought _. I really don't think I could have borne it if Dyanna could see what a mess I have made of raising her children_. But he could say that his daughter was pleased by his presence, so he stayed despite his wish to run away from this chamber, from his own failure with her.

Finally, he rose and followed Rhae into the bedchamber the children shared. A nursemaid curtsied and retired discreetly. Maekar stared at the two small faces and for a moment imagined that it was not his grandchildren that he was seeing but his own children. Daella and the little Aegon… At the time, Aemon had already started showing his interest in books, trying to read to himself before he had turned two and showing some success at three.

Daenaera and Alyn slept soundly. Whatever the maesters had poured into them to alleviate the horror was working and that was a good thing. Maekar reached out but hesitated and drew his hand back – he wasn't sure that he wouldn't disturb their sleep.

Rhae nodded toward Daella's bedchamber which was adjacent to the children's room.

"Did you manage to learn something?" she asked as soon as the door was closed.

Maekar sighed and shook his head. "The man the two of you stopped from drowning Alyn died despite the maesters' efforts. He had lost too much blood."

"That was too benign a death," Rhae stated angrily.

"Indeed. How does Aelora fare?"

"Poorly." The girl's voice was contained but the concern in her eyes intensified. "She hadn't gotten over Aelor's death still and now she's overwhelmed. She… isn't here."

_Rhaegel isn't here._ The code words they had used in their childhood for the moments their brother had traveled in a place they could not follow. They had stopped using them years before the youngest among the children were born. Or had they not? Either way, Maekar didn't like hearing them now.

For a while, they stayed silent.

"Aegon told me…" Rhae finally said hesitantly. "Is it true, what he said? About Mother? That she was… a repeated liar?"

"Yes," Maekar replied without thinking twice. "What's the matter?" he asked when she looked away, her head bowed.

Rhae stared at the carpet, at the window, at anything but her father. "Nothing," she said in a small voice. "I just… I guess that explains why you weren't too fond of her."

Maekar stared at her as if she had just grown a second head. "I wasn't fond of her?" he repeated. In the first moment, he just wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it but at the second thought, it was anything but funny. Daeron and Aerion remembered their mother. Aemon probably had a few memories as well but the youngest ones? Maekar rarely said Dyanna's name and while his parents had liked to talk about their gooddaughter to the children, they had been dead for too long as well. The people at Summerhall followed his own lead, so the three of them had been left without anything more intimate to know about their mother. No wonder that they had concluded Maekar was simply relieved to be rid of her. And the first thing Aegon got to learn about Dyanna had been something quite shocking, a moment taken out of the whole and giving the entirely wrong impression.

He rose. "Come on," he said.

"Where are we going?" Rhae asked.

"To my chambers," Maekar replied. "I don't want your impression of your mother to be tainted by the unfortunate conversation Aegon witnessed. Come on now."

A little afraid of what she'd find, Rhae followed him.

At the door of Daella's chambers, she bristled with antipathy. Her father paused. "What are you doing here?" he asked coldly and Rhae stared daggers at her goodbrother. How did he dare appear here?

Without waiting for an answer, Maekar beckoned the nearest guard further down the hall. "Ser Manfred isn't allowed anywhere near my daughter," he said. "Make it known to your captain."

While his goodson stared at him with a death wish in his eyes, Rhae sighed with relief. The fool didn't realize how close he had been to a near disaster. Maekar blamed him for what had happened last night as much as he blamed himself…

A little later, Maekar handed her a box of books and parchments, carefully folded in their tubes. "If your mother had not been a highborn lady, she'd have made a great chronicler," he said. His eyes went to the portrait behind her couch: Dyanna, aged nineteen, almost Rhae's age now. It chilled him to think that he had now spent more years without her than he had with her. But had he truly? She'd been in his life since he had been eight. _"I'll never wed a Targaryen prince, they must be very stupid indeed,"_ she had claimed. And later, when they had been older, in that tower in the middle of nowhere… _"How much longer do we have to stay here?"_

" _Two more days, at least," Ser Ronald replied grimly, to both his young charges' collective horror._

" _Two days!" she gasped and then went quiet, looking at Maekar and assessing his state._

" _What a joyous place that will be," he stated sarcastically, grimacing because the aftereffects of the snake poison were still going strong. "The Tower of Joy."_

" _The Tower of Horror, rather!" Dyanna retaliated. And then, "No! Don't go to sleep! Don't you dare die on me, you… dragon!"_

Now Rhae was reading a parchment with yellowed edges and smiling. Curious, Maekar leaned over her shoulder. The letter that Dyanna had sent him from Sunspear when the Blackfyre Rebellion had found her at Starfall where she hadn't been supposed to be at all. It had reached him a good month later somewhere in the Vale.

" _We're both fine and Daeron loves it in the Water Gardens. If you want to ask why I didn't tell you that I was going to Starfall, just have a look in the nearest mirror, and you'll know the answer. Anyway, we'll wait for the end of this unpleasant affair here. You can come and collect us later. I hope this letter finds you well, wherever you are. I pray the Seven keep you._

_P.P. Your Grace, my lord father! How dare you read other people's letters!"_

Rhae's smile widened. Maekar looked at the portrait again. Dyanna was beautiful to no end, regal and proud but a little playful as well – the painter had caught the essence of her, indeed! _Did I pay him enough_ , Maekar wondered and for the first time today felt that he had done something right.

* * *

The pig was screaming.

That was the sound Maekar heard from the black cells straight to the lowest level. It was an inhuman howl, a shriek of unspeakable agony that, despite everything, still had the power to grasp him with instinctive revulsion. The man preceding him with a torch was turning steadily whiter by the step and the flame shook and jumped all around, revealing sights that only made the poor man feel sicker. Indeed, at one point Maekar thought he'd simply throw the torch away and run back, his eyes closed shut.

As to Maekar, he disliked going in here but he made it a point never to avert his eyes when he couldn't avoid passing through the black tunnel. _Power does not exist in a precipice full of nothing,_ his father had used to say. _One should never lose sight of what it costs to keep it, or else it's too easy to forget and made having it the point of everything._

Like the third level, this one also had separate cells but there were no doors in the entire floor. There was no need to – those who entered this part of the dungeon were never able to leave on their own two feet and even crawling was not reliable. Maekar took the torch and sent the man back, receiving one of the most heartfelt thanks he had been given in the last months.

Without looking back to see if the man had made it without bumping into the walls between the cells, Maekar went further down, giving a brief look at every cells that had an occupant – and… _visitors_. Hammering slivers between nails, having people drink full ewers of water while pressing their nostrils together, hanging men with their heads down and whipping them with slender whips on their heels, extracting nails, pressing feet into iron boots with nails inside… Maekar kept his pace steady and his face impassive, although the muscle playing in his jaw showed that he was not as unaffected as he wanted to look like.

The pig's screams became louder with each step the Prince made. And when he started going past cells that were empty, although some of them bore the traces of a recent questioning, he knew he was very close indeed.

The pig was in the last cell. His left hand was slowly being flayed by two torturers while two others held him still. With the blood crusted all over his face and naked body, he didn't need the mask of a pig to be one. A recently slaughtered pig. Or one that was being slaughtered right now…

The King's Hand stood a little away, although his boots were still in the blood covering most of the floor, both congealed and fresh. And flowing. He nodded in silent acknowledgment – the closest thing he'd give to a bow when not in public.

"What?" Maekar asked.

"He's a hard one to break," Bloodraven replied. "But he did start talking… in a way. He confessed that the Velaryons had paid him to get rid of Princess Daella's boy. She and her cousins were just distractions in the plan."

Maekar ground his teeth. Distractions. Distractions who had gotten beaten and raped…

"I want him castrated for this," he said.

Bloodraven considered this. "I am not sure he can live through this," he finally said. "He'll probably die at the first cut and won't feel anything, let alone tell us anything…"

"Brynden, find a way," Maekar said, dismissing the other's very legitimate concerns with a wave of his hand. "I want him castrated. And I want him alive for a few weeks at least. I want him to feel the loss."

"You can't!"

They both startled. Unbeknown to them, the man had been listening to their conversation during a brief pause in the torture. They were genuinely amazed that he had been able to concentrate long enough.

"Watch me," Maekar said. "I'll do it myself, cockroach. Gladly."

He paused. "Why were you carrying that letter?" he asked. "Where did you take it from? Who gave it to you?"

"No one," the man groaned. "I just… found it."

"You just found it, did you?" Maekar made a slow step toward him and the torturers stepped away. He gave Bloodraven a quick look. The Hand of the King shook his head.

"They're deaf," he said. As soon as he had heard about the letter, he had summoned the torturers he kept for some very specific questionings.

"Good," Maekar said, taking his dagger out. Then, he swiftly stepped left to avoid the flow of piss erupting from the naked body, and almost slipped on the blood. Then, he held the blade at the man's cock.

"You just found it, did you? Think again, or I'll proceed with the castration, even taking the risk that you'd die right now. At least I'll have the pleasure of personally taking off the thing that you assaulted my daughter with. Think again."

There was fierce hatred in the man's eyes but he shook his head. "I don't… know anything. I just found it."

Maekar pressed the blade slightly and somewhat to his surprise, that produced an immediate effect. In less than a few minutes, they knew that the same Velaryons who had hired them to kill little Alyn had shown them the crest of the falling star and sword, as well as the drawings that were Dyanna Dayne's name – since he and his comrades couldn't read, of course. They had found the letter in a secret drawer in the chambers that had once been occupied by Lord Seagrave – both men immediately remembered that he had been a master of whisperers early in Daeron's reign before Bloodraven replaced him – and they had just started wondering if this was what they had been looking for, or the Velaryons would try to cheat them out of full payment claiming that this wasn't one of the documents they had ordered…

At this point, listening to him was already an effort on both Maekar and Bloodraven's parts. In the dark look they shared they read the same concerns. The pieces of the puzzle were clicking into place. What would happen if Dyanna was revealed to be a whore? That would place the paternity of all the children she had given Maekar under doubt, just when he had been proclaimed Aerys' heir. Who would stand behind a cuckold? Considerably less than those who would support a renowned warrior prince. And the younger branch of the Velaryon tree would never receive Driftmark over Daella's children. Not under Aerys and Maekar. And perhaps they feared that their uncle who was Maekar's friend would find a way to cheat them out of inheritance even if the children died. So they had turned to someone else. Someone who had to come in order to be able to do anything.

"I'll kill these idiots in Tyrosh!" Bloodraven said, voice even as always, although inwardly, he was shaking with fury. Just how had his people let themselves be lulled into complacency? While Bittersteel was making his plans…

"Well, you can do it later," Maekar said. "I want to know if he has any idea where the other letters are. And I still insist on the castration part," he added. "Find a way," he finished while turning back.

"Where are you going?" Brynden asked.

Maekar sighed unhappily. "I have to see Aelora," he said.

* * *

It was so cold, yet the sun shone brightly and Aelora was dressed and wrapped warmly. Or it should have been warmly. She opened her mouth to say that she wanted another blanket but somehow, the words wouldn't come. When at the end, someone realized that she was shaking and wrapped her in an additional cover, she couldn't even thank them. They didn't understand that she did understand.

She understood everything, recognized everyone, yet in a strange way the only things that were real were the three masks and the pain burning between her thighs. When the Queen and Rhae came to hold her hand and sit with her, she wanted to tell them that she was fine but somehow she couldn't force the words for someone who wasn't real. It just didn't happen, no matter how hard she tried. Just like she hadn't been able to push the pig away…

Her fear grew with every day that rendered her unable to do anything. She couldn't raise her hands to wash her hair; she couldn't feed herself. She couldn't even control her bodily fluids which was the most embarrassing and humiliating thing for her. The Grand Maester visited her every day and claimed that she was well. Aelora wanted to scream. How could he say she was well when she so very obviously wasn't? _I've always told you that maesters weren't as smart as they thought they were,_ Aelor said, as if answering her question. _The only good they ever did was managing to save you at our birth, so I had all those years with you._

He came to her more often now – not the bloodied corpse that he had become but the brother of her childhood, the husband of her youth. He seemed to be the only one who didn't mind her being irresponsive. But then, they had never needed words between them.

_Stay_ , she wanted to ask him and he looked at her as if he had heard. _I cannot_ , he said. _But you can come with me._

He didn't seem to know who had killed him and that was a bitter comfort, better than the onea everyone tried to provide her with.

People talked between themselves, convinced that Aelora couldn't understand them. There were talks of war and Blackfyres, nothing new, indeed. She couldn't bring herself to care. She only cared about spending time with Aelor and when he left, she became consumed of the horror that she might spend an eternity like that, in the prison of a body that did not obey her will anymore. Stupid, stupid girl who had dared to hope a little that she could start anew! The masks of death would start dancing in front of her again, torturing her, mocking her, and the pain between her legs would flare anew.

And then, one day, she rose at dawn and headed straight for the windows. She opened them and let the sunshine in. She called her handmaidens and ordered a bath in a voice that, according to her, gave no indication of the days and weeks she had spent mute.

The joy on the women's faces moved her. She had always known that her servants loved her – but she had had no idea how much. You never had much idea of anything, she expected to hear Aelor say – but he didn't. He wasn't there. And he didn't come back. Not when her cousins embraced her with tears in their eyes, as if she was coming back from the grave, not when her uncles asked her hoarsely if she was fine, not when she strolled out in the garden, enjoying her triumph over those who had no doubt whispered that she was mad like her father and would die in a pitiful way.

The masks tried to return but she pushed them away.

Until she was in bed that night – alone, without Aelor, as she would be forever. The pig came and she screamed, although no sound passed her lips. The snout grinned at her and in this moment, Aelora recognized the truth: there was no salvation. Aelor would never come back. And the masks would never go away. She curled in a ball and cried.

_You can come with me._

Slowly, as if she was a mummer's puppet, Aelora rose and went into the solar that she and Aelor had shared – not officially but there had been no his and hers between them. Many of his belongings were still with her. She opened the second drawer of a screen and took out a box of black wood lined with silver.

The dagger inside shone with promise and hope.

In the last moment, before death came, she knew that she was right: the masks retreated in defeat. And Aelor came.

She was dead before her body hit the floor.

**The End**

 


End file.
